


Our Inner Beasts

by You_Light_The_Sky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:53:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/pseuds/You_Light_The_Sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, Madam Pomfrey would tell them that both Bill and Ron were going to survive. But she had no idea what the effects of a werewolf bite, when the werewolf was still in human form, could do to their behavior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Inner Beasts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siehn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siehn/gifts).



> Warnings: slash, alternate take on werewolves than dealt with in canon, AU ending from HBP, angst, ooc characters
> 
> This was written on my livejournal for the five acts – round six organized by [info]toestastegood. I wrote this comment-fic for [info]siehn who requested animal transformations (werewolves preferred), h/c and romance. This is the slightly extended version. It was fun to write, I might come back to this verse someday.

  
  


It used to be Ron who woke him up, whenever he had nightmares, when he saw flashes of the dead reaching out to him, their accusing eyes flickering red and bleeding out crimson. Now Harry was the ever vigilant guardian by his best friend’s bedside. It was Harry who curled up in Ron’s bed, running his fingers through ginger curls, whispering sweet nothings, “it’s alright, love,” when they both knew that it wasn’t. It was Harry who was the insomniac, paranoid that Ron might need him when he had another panic attack.

They happened often. Harry could time them precisely with the movement of the moon ( _he now understood Remus’ boggart... that ever watchful glowing orb, looking down on them, mocking them in a never ending cycle of—)_ First there would be moans before Ron began to spasm in his sleep, clawing out at an enemy ( _or prey_ ) that wasn’t really there. Only air would meet his hands and Ron would growl, his movements becoming more erratic and violent.

By then Harry would jump out from the armchair by the fireplace. Two large steps would bring him to Ron’s bed and he’d grab Ron’s wrists, murmuring in soothing tones. _Ron, Ron, it’s alright. Greyback isn’t here anymore, it’s fine. It’s all fine. It’s just a dream—_ but it never was just a dream; that, Harry could understand— _go to sleep, I’ll be here—_ he’d _always_ be here.

Then Ron would overpower him ( _He’d always been the strongest of the pair, even before the attack, before Dumbledore’s death...)_ have Harry pinned against the sheets, eyes wild with a feral madness that Harry had lived ( _still lived, with Voldemort’s visions ripping through his mind)._ And just for a moment, one startling hushed moment, their eyes would meet and Harry would be afraid that this was it. Ron wouldn’t recognize him, Ron was lost to the madness, gone forever—

But Ron always remembered. His expression would melt into one of horror and guilt. Arms would wrap around him, warm and secure ( _always)_ and Ron would breathe in choked gasps ( _like sobs)._ Each one was an apology, ones that Harry had heard before and would always accept.

He would being his hands up Ron’s back, hold him tightly— _he’s still here, still my Ron, still here_ —and murmur, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It always would be.

-

Harry remembered when Ron had first been bitten. It’d been the same horrific night that Snape had killed the headmaster and Harry had run after him in revenge. When Harry had returned to the hospital wing, it was to the horrible news that Bill had been severely injured by Greyback... and that the werewolf had gotten his best friend.

He’d never forget the picture of Hermione, sobbing hysterically and refusing to leave Ron’s side, Ron who was bloody and spread out against white sheets like a human sacrifice. Harry had rushed forward, hands against Ron’s face, his neck, his hair.

“Please,” he remembered saying, “please, Ron, be alive. Please, Ron, open your eyes!”

No one had been able to pry Harry or Hermione away from their friend.

Later, Madam Pomfrey would tell them that both Bill and Ron were going to survive. But she had no idea what the effects of a werewolf bite, when the werewolf was still in human form, could do to their behavior. It hadn’t been done before (what mad werewolf would _want_ to bite anyone when they were human, besides Greyback?)

For the most part, Harry hadn’t cared. If Ron was alive ( _he couldn’t imagine a world without Ron, it was impossible, it wasn’t right, he wouldn’t survive, he’d follow him to death if he had to—_ ) then nothing else mattered. It was worth the consequences. Hermione, initially, didn’t mind either, but she held a gleam of worry in her eyes.

Bill was normal, according to Fleur, save for a craving for raw steak and moodier outbursts, he was the same old Bill. Ron, on the other hand, had changed.

In the final days of school, the days approaching Dumbledore’s funeral, he was irritable, more prone to lashing out at anyone who came near. He made Hermione burst into tears constantly until they were shouting at each other whenever they met. When Ron was angry, he’d get into more fights in the halls, particularly with Slytherins but if any other house members were around, even his own, they were fair game.

It came to the point where only Harry had the patience to deal with Ron. Everyone else could only be around him for so long before they needed some space. Harry stayed by Ron’s side through it all. When it came time for them to separate in the summer, Harry made Ron promise to write.

Preparations with the order, plans for the horcrux hunt and arrangements for the Dursleys’ relocation kept Harry’s mind occupied. Ron’s wellbeing was always on the surface of his thoughts and Harry was always tense around the full moon ( _would Ron transform? Would he write?)_ But such things were pushed away when Harry was escorted to the Burrow. The wedding and plans with Hermione kept Harry from asking.

The first full moon that Harry, Hermione and Ron spent together was almost disastrous.

He hadn’t told them (the idiot) and had forgotten to take his potion. When he transformed in Grimmauld Place, Harry had had to push a frozen Hermione out of the way and lock him in the basement with the help of Kreacher.

He remembered Ron’s haunted eyes the next day, how Hermione was a bit jumpy whenever the Weasley came near. Ron’s features had shut off then and he’d locked himself in one of the rooms upstairs.

Hermione began to cry, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to... I just...”

“I understand,” he had nodded.

And he went after Ron.

At first Ron wouldn’t let him in. They screamed at each other through the door until Harry threatened to blast his way through and Ron snarled, “Yes, why don’t you do that? And while you’re at it, do me a favour and put the monster out of his misery, why don’t you? Just kill me, Harry, I can’t live like this!”

“ _Don’t you dare say that_!”

“...Don’t you _dare_ say that, Ron Weasley...” Harry felt his throat burning and his hands were trembling. “I can’t live in a world without you. I can’t live if you’re not alive too. So don’t ever say that...”

He fell to his knees and put his forehead against the surface of the door, wondering if Ron could feel him there.

“You’re not a monster. You’re a beautiful werewolf,” he remembered the ginger and auburn fur, the gloriously feral eyes, “and you don’t deserve to die.”

There was a click, and Harry would have fallen down if not for Ron who caught him by the shoulders. Harry looked up saw that his Ron’s eyes were rimmed red and that he was whispering a litany of “I’m sorry” over and over like a broken prayer.

 _It’s fine._ He would say. He could say it all day if it meant that Ron would stop his tears. But the words weren’t enough, neither were thoughts. And yet he’d say them a million times over, if it meant that Ron could bear the burden a little better.

Now, months later, after the war, Harry let himself relax in Ron’s embrace. It was alright, another nightmare averted. They were both broken young men from the war. It was enough that they could listen to each other’s hearts beating.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Running with the Wolf, Loving the Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/612610) by [nerdyheart15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdyheart15/pseuds/nerdyheart15)




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